Christophorus (Engelse vertaling)

Christophorus

Christophorus had, from early morn,
Worked till evening, as a mule borne
Everybody trough the swollen riverbed.
Now he wanted rest and bread,
But, annoyed, he thought he had none
And it was too late to buy some.
Besides – a ferry without a ferry-man?
Rather some wishy-washy stuff then.
He kicked his boots off; in stockings, in pants
Flung flour and milk into a pan,
Added some onions to make it complete,
Sat down, enjoyed what he’d made to eat.
There rang the bell from the other side;
Grumbling impatiently, looking outside,
Christophorus, expecting this least of all,
There watched a little man, so lonely and small,
That in a hurry he pulled on his boots,
Entered the water – it splashed up a foot -,
Spoke very friendly: “ Well, little brother,
Sit like a horseman upon my shoulder,
take my long hair to keep yourself steady.
Sitting well? Steering well? Then we are ready. “
How heavy, though, was the small boy he bore
And the water rose higher than ever before.
Deeper and deeper the boy pressed him down,
His feet felt no bottom; “ We shall drown! “
He called, “ but in God I trust. “ “ Live “ said
The child; you bear God on your head! “
Then, rising up, with his gauging-stick,
He felt ground again, fell ashore with a jerk.
Laughing before him stood, wrapped in light,
The child and asked him: “ Which reward is right? “
“ No, “ said the ferry-man, “ Who bore the world’s Lord
Could have had in his arms no greater reward.
“ Then Jesus spoke: “ Until your death,
In memory of your Lord in distress,
Your name will be Christophorus; your lot
And your life will be borne by God.
Long stood the ferry-man there in wonder,
Shaking his head and pondering yonder,
Entered his house, ate his meal from the pan
and went to sleep a happy man.